


Maybe in another life

by Harker13, Masamune7



Series: Soundtracks [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Diary/Journal, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Nightmares, Other, Sad Sherlock Holmes, Very Secret Diary, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20887019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harker13/pseuds/Harker13, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masamune7/pseuds/Masamune7
Summary: Kinktober 02 - VoyeurismAfter waking up from an awful recurring nightmare, Sherlock decides to write a letter to John. Maybe taking things out of his chest will help for once.





	Maybe in another life

**Author's Note:**

> This is not kinky at all, is mild and vanilla as fuck; I'm deeply sorry.
> 
> I'm heartbroken from another fic I'm reading and have only slept 4 hours in two days. I need a nap.
> 
> This time I really must thank Masamune7 for helping me check the grammar on this and, at least for today, being the best editor I could ask for!

How thin were the walls of 221B?

Could John have heard him screaming?

He never really gave much thought about it, in a world where Sherlock Holmes preferred to be left alone most of the time, the strange ache in his chest that struck him after a specifically dreadful nightmare, made him constantly reconsider how much his isolation was worth. The cold sweat, shivers and crying feeling wasn’t even close to be the worst of it. How sad can a person be if you’ve dedicated your entire life to push everyone away?

_“Write it down, Sherlock”_ – Mycroft’s voice echoed his aching head – “_deduce what you cannot comprehend. Write it down, and let it out before you lose your mind, brother mine”._

He sighed – “_Thank you, Mycroft …”_ \- and smiled; - “_now get the hell out of my head, I’m busy dying”._

How inconvenient was to feel this much; to really know, deep down, what made his heart ache. But nevertheless, he took the pen and a piece of paper.

_“John,_

_I’m afraid I woke you up already, and if that’s the case … you might as well like to know what, sometimes, goes through my mind and can hopefully put into words for you… it always has to do with you._

_My recurrent nightmares don’t have anything to do with dismembered corpses or blood splatters all over my face… it’s always the same, a place I don’t recognize where I’m drowning; there’s not much water but everything’s dark. I can’t open my eyes, scared to face death if I do so. In that moment, I wish I could remember how to cry; my head doesn’t come to terms that I may be dying. This time for real. Sometimes a piano starts playing in the background and the voice of a woman keeps asking me if I’m afraid. _

_I’m not… _

_I’ve never been afraid of death, why would I? What’s to fear when you’re embraced by emptiness? But even so … even then, trusting my knowledge and memories, telling me this is the best outcome and should let it go, just before I open my eyes… I feel how you hold me and keep my head off the water. You always start counting numbers, just numbers._

_“Tell me your favorite number?” – you tell me as, once again, I hear your voice filled with desperation._

_“One hundred” – I manage to whisper while feeling your cheek brushing my lips – “that is how much Galapagos tortoises live…”._

_“Count with me, don’t fall asleep, Sherlock!” – How brave you sound even when panic takes over you._

_“John…”_

_“Yes, love?”_

_“I wish I was a tortoise…”_

_I feel your smile, as you start counting. The sound of your voice always felt like a lullaby, every time you finished and get to one hundred, you started over. Like you always did, giving me as many chances I need but never deserved or asked for; you always knew better than me what I needed … was it just your company, a cup of tea or a piece of toast._

_How hard is going to leave you again; I longed for you to leave first; I could not bear to break you into pieces once again for my selfishness, at the end it was true … share this life with you, in our own unspoken terms has been the greatest pleasure of my existence. I wish I could’ve saved you a thousand times more than all you saved me; mostly because I always was your biggest cause of concern. _

_I’m sorry I discovered my humanity so late. _

\------

He climbed the stairs with the piece of paper carefully folded in his hand. John’s room was empty, bed perfectly done.

The lock on the door clicked open and an obviously drunk John Watson entered laughing with an equally drunk female companion. Sherlock stood there, hidden, hanging on in quiet, listening to John Watson having sex with someone who is never going to be him. He sat there for God knows how long, hearing every moan, every cry, every laugh that was making John finally feel alive again.

His chest still hurt when he tiptoed back to his room once the flat went silent again.

Maybe in another life.

**Author's Note:**

> GIVE HIM A FUCKING HUG!
> 
> Update: This fic was created while listening “The Great Gig in the Sky” by Pink Floyd (on loop) (for weeks)


End file.
